


How Are Ya Fixed for Love

by earthbourn



Series: Wherever You Go, There You Are [2]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time Together, M/M, am I right lads, what's a first time without a little emotional messiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthbourn/pseuds/earthbourn
Summary: Now that the Courier's addiction is no longer putting a hold on their love life, he's more than ready to jump into bed with Arcade. But something's different than he's used to. Why is he so nervous?





	How Are Ya Fixed for Love

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the 1959 song by Frank Sinatra and Keely Smith.

The suite at the Lucky 38 is like a dream. Real beds, without bedbugs or bloodstains; running water, rad-free;  _ a private fucking bedroom _ . The accidental pun makes Slug laugh as he paces the room, but it doesn't make him any less nervous. Arcade is catching up with some friends at the Fort, but he’ll be back in an hour, maybe less, and from there…

Arcade was taking it slow, giving Slug some space since his relapse, but more and more lately, Slug was picking up signals: a gentle touch on his leg, a conspicuous once-over, even a lewd comment whispered in his ear. Slug hasn't been laid since before he even met Arcade, since his covert tumble with Major Knight almost four months ago. While he was pining after Arcade, the dry spell made him feel like a sexy martyr, gave a delicious edge to his nights alone in his tent. But now that the fantasies are very real prospects, Slug curses the restraint that's apparently turned him back into a horny, inexperienced teenager.

He thinks about getting himself off now, so he might last a bit longer with Arcade. He even stretches out on the bed and starts to stroke himself, but he's too anxious to finish. What if he doesn't have time to clean up? What if Arcade can tell? What if he comes back early to find Slug bucking into his own hand because the idea of waiting another hour was making a wreck of him?

With a sound that's part sigh and part snarl, Slug tears his hair down from its tiny, paintbrush ponytail, rakes his fingers through it several times, and ties it up again. Wash face. Change shirt. Smooth bed sheets. Triple-check that lube is in nightstand. Change back to first shirt. Lie face-down on bed in agony until knock nearly causes heart attack.

Slug stumbles as he flings himself off the bed and yanks open the door. “You don't have to knock.”

Arcade pecks him on the cheek and grins. “What if I'd interrupted something?”

A less experienced man might blush at that. Slug is reasonably sure he didn't. 

“I was taking a nap,” Slug says, straightening the blanket he rumpled in his moment of panic. "Best bed I've slept in for quite a while."

“This place is definitely nice.” Arcade shrugs out of his coat and tosses it over a chair, then slips off his shoes. “I wouldn’t mind trying out the bed.”

“You don’t have to keep hinting.” Draping his arms over Arcade’s shoulders, Slug pulls him into a kiss, relishes the scrape of teeth against his tongue.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to push you.”

“I fucking want you, Arcade. Sorry my personal shit kept getting in the way.” Now that Arcade is actually here, Slug relaxes a bit, lets arousal do some of the thinking. It ain’t his first rodeo, after all. Even if everything with Arcade kind of feels like the first time.

Arcade sits down on the edge of the mattress. “Lose the clothes.”

“Bossy.” He's long suspected that Arcade likes to give orders, has imagined it in detail plenty of times. Slug wants to make him work for it at least a little, but already his hands are rushing to obey.

“Slower.”

Pausing over each button, it seems to take forever to get his shirt off. “You’re not planning on picking on me, are you, Gannon?”

“That depends.” Arcade nods at Slug’s belt buckle. “Keep going.”

Warmth rises in Slug’s face as he fumbles with his belt. He hadn’t thought before about how many of his encounters end with most of their clothes still on, just enough unbuttoned to get to what they need. Most of the time, Slug doesn't have to worry about the scar tissue on his left nipple from where he was knifed a few years back, or the pimples he tends to get on his thighs. Now fully undressed, Slug tries not to mentally catalogue his imperfections as Arcade looks him over.

At the crook of a finger, Slug moves closer, only for Arcade to pull him down onto the bed and flip them both over to settle himself on top. He kisses Slug’s forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, before finally giving Slug a taste of his tongue. Arcade is even more gentle as he moves downward over Slug’s neck, leaving just the barest hint of his teeth. 

When he licks a nipple, Slug twists underneath him. “Not the bad one.”

“It’s cute.”

Slug moves a hand to cover it, but Arcade pins his wrist and licks again. With his other hand, Slug pulls at Arcade’s collar. “Come on, you’ve gotta let me see you.”

“Be patient, and stop interrupting me.” He gradually moves lower with his lips, repositioning himself between Slug’s legs. When Arcade kisses up the inside of his thigh, Slug barely even thinks of the acne there.

Slug’s breath catches as Arcade pushes his legs up to press his tongue against Slug’s entrance. He rubs against Arcade’s face, a needy sound escaping his throat. It’s been a long fucking time since anyone ate him out. When he grabs a handful of Arcade’s hair, he half-expects to be chastised, but the little hum of approval does just as much to get Slug hard as the tongue mercilessly teasing him.

Arcade starts to get up, but Slug grabs the lube from the nightstand. “Got it already.” The cold gel makes him squirm a little, anticipating the contrast of Arcade’s warm finger. Arcade uses a second finger, a third, slowly opening him up, and Slug struggles to follow the instruction to be patient.

Just as slowly as he made Slug undress, Arcade sheds his own clothes, and Slug somehow feels fresh wonder at every new glimpse of skin revealed. “Goddamn, you’re gorgeous.” He loves the pale, curly hairs on Arcade’s chest, and the darker patch below; he loves the twin moles on Arcade’s hip, like the brightest stars of a constellation; he loves the gentle curve of Arcade’s stomach, and the faint stretch marks there.

That’s the difference, Slug realizes, the unfamiliar fervor that was driving him crazy all night--adding an emotional component to sex is brand new territory for him. He’s fixed on Arcade’s smile as he climbs back on the bed and squeezes out another measure of lube. Slug’s still turned on as hell, but he also feels like he’s floating, like his pent-up nerves are sparks all over the surface of his skin.

When Arcade eases into him, the sparks turn red-hot, and Slug closes his eyes to try and focus only on the sensation in his lower body. “Jesus  _ fuck _ .” He reaches down to touch himself, but Arcade takes a hold of him instead, stroking just a bit faster than he moves his hips. When Slug opens his eyes, Arcade is still there, still looking like an honest-to-god angel with a soft sheen of sweat on his shoulders and a lock of hair falling over his forehead.

He’s so perfect, and so sweet, and it doesn’t make any sense how he could want anything to do with Slug. Surely Arcade would want someone like himself, someone who can discuss literature and history and medicine in multiple languages; not Slug, who doesn’t know a goddamn thing about shit, least of all this romance stuff. Slug isn’t even attractive, with his crooked nose, and his acne scars dotting both cheeks, and his weird fucking nipple.

The way Slug figures it, there are two possibilities. First, that Arcade isn’t romantically invested, and was just waiting for this--not a wonderful outcome, but one Slug could live with. Certainly one he’s used to. The other, far more upsetting possibility, that Arcade loves him because he’s mistaken about what kind of person Slug is, because he sees something in Slug that just isn’t there.

Slug shuts his eyes again, tight this time. As much as he tries to suppress the nagging thoughts, they keep coming back, and at this rate his dick is going to soften any second.

“Madison?”

Why doesn’t Arcade just use his regular name? Doesn’t that prove he’s got the wrong idea? Even Slug’s parents just called him “boy.” And now he’s thinking about his parents, for fuck’s sake, wrapped up in the clenched fist of insecurity gripping his stomach. He’s well and truly killed his arousal, and Arcade’s sure to notice.

Arcade stops. “Madison, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just--keep going,” Slug says, but Arcade has already pulled out.

“I’m not going to keep fucking you when you’re obviously not enjoying it.”

The gentle concern in Arcade’s expression makes Slug want to hurt himself. “I just got in my head.” He covers his face with both hands. “And I was so determined not to fuck this up.”

Arcade moves to sit next to Slug. “Nothing’s fucked up. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Can’t.”

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?”

“Either let me get you off, or leave me alone.” 

“Not going to happen.” Slowly, Arcade lies down, just a few inches away. Slug sighs and turns onto his side, his back to Arcade. “Maddie. You’ve got to stop shutting me out.”

What can he say that won’t make Arcade leave? Maybe it’s already too late. It’s all too confusing, too overwhelming. When Arcade touches his shoulder, Slug flinches and curls his body inward. Arcade apologizes and draws his legs up so he can pull the end of the blanket over both of them.

Minutes pass. Slug has to say something eventually; after the scene he made, he can’t go back to hiding his doubts. The words seem to claw their way up from his stomach. “What do you...what do you like about me?”

“I like how kind you are. I like that you don’t need philosophy or law or a complex moral code to do the right thing. You do good in your own way, like it comes naturally.” Arcade brushes the back of his hand over Slug’s hair, and waits to make sure the touch is welcome before pulling the ponytail loose. “And you love like taking a breath.”

Ain’t that poetry, Slug thinks, but he breathes in deep and considers it. “I do love you. It makes me a little crazy.”

“That’s normal.” 

“Is that your excuse?”

“I don’t need an excuse.” He twists Slug’s hair around and around, twining it through his fingers. “Does it make me crazy to try to be happy?”

Slug turns over and wraps an arm around Arcade. “Yeah, probably. I put you through a lot of shit.”

“Don’t worry. My turn for a meltdown is coming.”

“That’s fair.” When he kisses Arcade, the come-down of emotions is like a balloon pushing out of his lungs, and he curses the deflated whimper that comes with it.

“You okay?”

“Mm-hm. No more talking.” The rawness has left him needy for contact. He reaches down to touch Arcade.

Arcade gasps, but presses closer. “You’re gonna let me touch you too, right?”

“You better.” When Arcade bites his lip and leans his head toward Slug’s chest, Slug can see the scattering of freckles on his shoulders and the sunburned scalp where his hair parts. Slug laughs and kisses the top of Arcade’s head, understanding in an image what he’s been missing. 


End file.
